


Couple A' Assholes

by technicallyGodless



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biting, Black-Red Vacillation, Bulges and Nooks, Fingering, M/M, POV Eridan Ampora, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Scratching, Teenage Dorks, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicallyGodless/pseuds/technicallyGodless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> "This just may be the closest thing to platonic hate you've felt since Captor and you staged your little showdowns." </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eridan is having some trouble discerning his feelings for his dancestor, flipping from black to red and back again in a never ending cycle. He finally decides on the ever-rational option of getting a little more physical, thinking maybe that aspect would help be a deciding factor in his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couple A' Assholes

This just may be the closest thing to platonic hate you've felt since Captor and you staged your little showdowns. At least those were entertaining enough and the both of you understood there were little to no romantic connotations. Duke it out, shed some blood, and you didn't feel awfully compelled to snog the kid after he'd singed the living hell out of you. It was the perfect balance of "We could kill each other or bang but neither of those sound appealing." But this. What you had with this asshole was some ugly mixture of carnal and romantic, some muddled feelings you hated thinking about for longer than it took you to shut him up. 

Why you put up with this tool in particular for as long as you do as often as you do is a question best left untouched. Agree to one date with the guy (that didn't even end well, min you) and he decides you're quadmates and follows you around as often as he can. It's close to pitiful, which you think is part of the reason you stick around. When his mouth is shut or he's only talking casually about himself, he's bearable. Bearable meaning if need be you're able to get his mouth shut or steer the conversation away from whatever garbage he's spitting at the moment. There are even times you allow him to show you his music, something that makes your ears ache but it makes him happy and keeps him tolerable. 

As it turns out, you'd been feeling gracious and accepted his offer to head back to his hive for a "jam session." At the very least he'll produce something of an entertainment to you, at most you'll get into a well-needed spat. You haven't gotten your aggressions out in ages, every little thing setting you off on someone you don't place under the category of kismesis. This always proves for some regrettable words being tossed around, and often a very awkward apology on your end. You leave random arguments riled up in more ways you're quite cozy with, and maybe getting into something with your probable kismesis will help soothe you. 

So your motives for showing up to his hive that moonset aren't all too charitable, but you wouldn't call them entirely selfish. If you played your cards right and he was smart enough to catch on, the fellow seadweller would have 'bragging rights' over you. The term is crude and makes your lip curl in distaste, but you're sure it's how he would phrase it. And speak of the devil. 

You'd just barely been able to contact your knuckles to the door of his strangely designed hive when it's swinging open, a far too practiced casual stance displayed by none other than your dancestor. Yeah, you know, this wasn't exactly the easiest idea for you to warm up to either. But you've spent long enough in the afterlife just moping alone, unable to find anyone who didn't think you killed Feferi. Something about you being moirails, the details were always altered. But apparently alternate you was shitty in multiple iterations, go figure. 

"Eridan, wasn't expecting you to come so early. Welcome to my humble abode, make yourself at hive." You just nod at him, noticing he's trying pretty hard to keep his w's and v's in check, something you'd long since given up on. The guy must be dead set on impressing you for some reason, you think as he steps to the side to let you in. Not much remarkable about his recreation block from what you can tell, just the average outfitting from someone of the caste you share. Surveying the scene casually, you kick out of your shoes at the door so as to not dirty the floors. Never knew if a guy was conscious of having a clean home, so it was always best to be polite by default. 

And then he's already off yammering about how he thought you wouldn't show even though you're early already, how he was getting a little emotional over the thought of you skipping out. You immediately groan in his direction, shooting him an irritated expression. "Cro, put a sock in it about your delicate sensibilities for a sec. Came here for music, or at least to do somethin' entertaining." 

You're pretty sure he's feigning the hurt expression he shoots you, but thank the gods he's decided not to go off about that hurting his feelings as well. The guy probably doesn't want to push your limits just yet, seeing as your first 'date' ended with you getting fed up and leaving within the first hour. Over time, Cronus has learned when he should shut up and behave like a decent troll. He's catching hints easier now and you could praise him about it if he wouldn't cling to every positive thing you said like it was the literal last fish in the sea. You prefer to save praise for more intimate moments with him, that way you're both busy and he has to gush on his own time. 

In any case, he's already over whatever hurt he may have felt, immediately trying to lead you to his respite block. That just so happens to be where you were going to suggest to go, you tell him, and the amount of joy in his eyes is so immense you fear what he looked like _with_ pupils. Well alright, least he's happy. Creepily so, but there's nothing worth bitching over yet. 

You don't give him the time to lead you to his block, just heave a sigh through your nose and head in on your own time. He doesn't follow right away which strikes you as odd, but you see soon enough he's just rummaging around for his guitar. You're lazing on his concupiscent platform leaning your back to the wall when he finally joins you. He sits too close, but you're in position to kick his damn face if need be, so you don't make a move to scoot away. 

"So I'm just gonna cut to the chase if that runs with you, yeah?" You nod at him idly, trying to lean against the wall further but your horns bump obstructively. He's trying to tune the guitar with an expression you can only pin down as attractive through practice. Like he'd spent hours in front of a mirror to get his features to do just the right thing to look like that. God you hope that's the case, you desperately hope this is just an angle he'd practiced on often and you didn't actually find him effortlessly handsome. That simply would not do. 

Cronus hums along to a tune only he could come up with, tapping and pulling at things you're sure don't need all that much adjustment, but you just sit back and look on with as little outward interest as possible. Within a few more seconds he's announcing he wrote this song for you. "I call it 'Beautiful Inside You And Out'," he announces with a grin. Ugh. Vulgar as it was you're almost flattered he would write something just for you. Highly doubting its quality, you scoff just enough to be audible. 

"C'mon Eri, give me a chance here. Ain't we supposed to be jacketed? You're supposed to at least pretend to like what I do," he pouts, dancing his fingers over the strings for a moment before jumping right into a semi-discordant beat to cut off whatever reply you had brewing. You really wish he didn't do that so often. Cut you off, that is. 

But you don't dare complain; he gets a little frosty when someone interrupts. His music is always relatively pleasant if you stay long enough to hear his voice. Tasteless as the lyrics are, the troll had the voice of an angel. Not one of the things from your planet by any means. So you're always drawn to keep your mouth shut and look at him with vague hints of admiration. He's still not a thing you're proud to call a dancestor by any means, but when you're alone he's bearable if not slightly fun. So for then you shut your eyes, letting his voice wash over you and push away some of the more negative thoughts you're harboring. It's moments like these that make you question what fucking quadrant you want him in.

_"...And if ever you find yourself in need / I'm always stickin' around somewhere / For when you think it's time to feed / There's quality time for us to share.."_

This is one of his slower songs, the kind that come off as innocent and sweet until you actually listen to what he's saying. Regardless of the content being one musical innuendo, you don't rather mind a few of the things he's insinuating. The second his fingers stop you know those thoughts will alter dramatically, but for now your head is swimming with the final repetition of the chorus he's come up with (for you, all for you). 

It comes to a close slowly, gradually with him vocalizing and humming along with the tune perfectly. Your eyes peep open again as his fingers come to rest and mouth shuts in a satisfied grin. He's already getting out of the high that comes with singing, looking to you for praise or maybe just to see if you're still there. 

"So? Did I completely knock your socks off, or what?" His fins actually twitch in anticipation, causing your own to flit down quickly in response. You loved every second of it to be truthful, but it pisses you off that he can manage being such a massive tool and the most gorgeous voice since The Troll Smiths. It pisses you off that he needs your approval so much, that he searches for recognition the same way that you do and it's familiarly pathetic. 

You tell him it was fine, you would have left if it were anything but. He falters for just long enough for you to notice, and that look wasn't directed for you to have seen as pitiable to feed into his attention seeking tendencies. You think that actually cracked him a little and immediately add on a compliment about the flow. Lyrics aside, he sounded pretty nice, you say. And boy does he brighten, that genuine smile that barely peeks through shining at you with full-frontal gratification. It's impossible not to give him these little moments of confirmation that he isn't completely awful, just the way he tries hard to do for you. Whether or not he succeeds doesn't matter much. It's the thought that counts. 

Thinking too deeply about this is making your pusher flip around from your original intentions, black anger just barely bubbling under your skin by now. But you're not about to get feels-y tonight, you didn't come here to cry about your mutual inadequacy with him. Tonight you're going to give him something he's begged everyone, rust to tyrian for, and he's going to be in your debt for the eternity that you're going to be around for. To be honest, that's half the reason you're doing it. You have your own needs of course, but the thought of how things would turn out afterwards is enticing. 

With an almost nervous flit of your fins, you decide diving right in will be the easiest course of action. Get him into it now, explain later. Or not ever. After all, what has he done to earn an explanation? 

He's kind of looking at you with an inquisitive raise of the eyebrows, crinkling his scar up a bit in the process and why the hell is that so endearing now? No matter, you push the thought out of your mind as you push your back off the wall to scoot off the bed and stand in front of him. You gingerly reach out to lift his guitar away and he only looks more confused and a little protective. It'd taken him 'almost a literal forever' to find the thing and he likes to cling to the thing, but you just scoff and take it anyhow. You make a point to set it down against the wall just the way he normally does, letting it lean there as gently as possible. He's confused but reassured that it's in his line of sight. 

"So uh, gonna tell me why you had the impulse to take away my baby?" He looks a little irritated but that's good. You want him angry or something more tolerable than what he is right now. With a look of faux confusion, you step right up in front of him. 

"What the hell's a baby?" You've asked this question a million times before and really hope this time is the one that'll push Cronus's buttons enough. With a smug batting of your eyes, you're pretty sure you're acting like a 'baby' right now and really expect him to spit something rude at you. But you have no such luck. The bastard just barks a laugh, reminding you that it's a human grub, you're pretty forgetful aren't you? That's the last straw, how can he manage using all of his calm on all the wrong people, how can he be so infuriatingly thick? 

Your chest is vibrating with a growl now and he's more confused than ever until your lips are on his, then he isn't complaining. At least not at first, it's not until you start biting a little too hard that he makes a noise or so of protest. You roll your eyes, easing up just enough for him to become accustomed to the pressure. May as well start in slow, leave him with gradual marks. 

Just as your eyes slip shut his hands are trying to slip around your waist, and you're having none of that either. You swat them away immediately and he whines like a wiggler, god why are you even doing this. He's unbearably similar to you in certain fields but so much worse, it's impossible not to want to bite his lips off and kiss them over when you're done. 

One of his teeth nicks your lip and you make a noise of approval, but it seems like he's trying to apologize by kissing over the barely-there cut. It's really, really best not to focus on the mechanics of this quadrant-wise because you're fairly sure he's waxing definite red, while your own feelings can't help but muddle somewhere between there and utterly pitch. To distract from getting yourself in a fit about that, you break the kiss to straddle his lap for a moment before pushing him completely onto his back. That earns a look you could frame. 

"Look chief, I'm all for where this is going, but I don't think you know exactly wh-" His cocky protest is cut off by a sharp slap from you, just enough to leave the already violet flesh darker and keep the position you've mentally claimed for yourself long ago. Him being a few inches taller and a having a couple sweeps on you means absolutely nothing in your mind. You hold yourself on a higher dominance pedestal than the coward already loosening beneath you ever could. It might take a little extra effort, but you've already won half the battle by getting him on his back. 

You shoot a challenging glance down at him, giving room for him to either try and get you off or.. Oh, that was quick. The second option proving to be the winner, as his earfins lower and flatten against the sides of his head. You make a quip about how easily he rolls over in defeat before giving him the brief reward of leaning to kiss him again, hands on either side of his head. You're straddling his midsection, just above where he likely wants to feel the pressure, and the thought of him squirming almost makes you grin. 

And then his hands get at your hips again, trying to tug you down just a few more inches. You decide to let him have this considering your own need, shifting downward to grind purposefully at the lump already there. Pathetic, really, but the flattering aspect doesn't fail to get to you. It's obvious the guy hasn't gotten this much in centuries, if he ever had. It's laughable and yet gives you the thrill of possibly being the first one to claim him. That would be a truly wonderful achievement. 

With a little resistance you manage to pull away from his mouth, sitting back a moment to both shift against him and admire your handiwork; a couple of dots of violet bead on his lower lip, mouth looking so abused it could bruise. He's panting already, though you can't deny you are as well. For a few seconds you just catch your breath, shifting your ass to and fro against the ever-swelling bulge in his jeans. He groans impatiently, the hands at your hips trying to get your pants off. You suggest he learn a little patience for future encounters and he just scoffs, but fuck if you've got any left either. Without much grace you have the fly of your jeans open and enough room to shuffle them and your boxers off your hips. 

Cronus moves for his own zipper, but you're not ready to give him that much yet. Right now you're focused on scooting to straddle over his chest, shoving your half-sheathed bulge in his face. He glanced between the writhing member and your face, trying to decipher if you're serious. You really are, and prove that by hooking a thumb into his mouth, pulling it open forcibly and telling him to get to it. 

Your calm exterior was admittedly just a fluke blessing considering the complete nervous mess you are inside, willpower only ever proving itself through your body. Whatever though, getting what you want is far easier this way. Sighing beneath you, your dancestor bites your thumb to get it out of his mouth. There's a little blood and you're so damned thankful for that, even if he's likely to avoid drawing any more. It gives you enough drive to shove your hips forward. He immediately goes to work at your sheathe, making you let out a bit of a surprised yelp and move a hand to lean on the wall. You chalk up his skills as being alone for countless sweeps and figuring himself out pretty well. If that weren't the case you'd allow him a bit of respect, maybe. 

Within a little while he'd got you completely unsheathed and shuddering, head now resting on the wall as you get used to the cool tongue against your bulge. He's slowing down now, and you're glad he understood your intentions despite your current want to jut fuck his mouth. But no, that wouldn't give you or he nearly enough satisfaction. Huffing with regret, you push off the wall and pull away from his mouth (that is tinged so beautifully with your color), moving back to get off of him. You make no show of getting out of your shirt and everything else, tossing them in a pile on the floor. You sort of stand there to get your bearings for a moment, snapping at him to get out of his clothes as well. 

He almost looks a little sheepish, half lidded eyes on you as he wriggles to sit up. His fingers dance to the hem of his shirt, and unlike you he apparently intends to make a show of stripping. Eye contact broken only by the obnoxiously white fabric passing up and over his head, you remain in a dead stare as he unbuckles his belt and yanks the thing off with alarming ease. Definitely had practice doing this to himself in the mirror, you decide while watching him practically thrust out of his jeans and undergarments. Those too are white, or at least mostly so aside from the violet staining them. That was a sight you never thought would turn you on as much as it currently was. 

After you're both equally naked, save your wearing glasses, you get back up on his 'bed' as it was called for short by humans. He shifts over to you, still convinced he's got a chance at taking you, and all you have to do is shove his chest down to win that battle. You give a hum of satisfaction, the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips when you've gotten yourself over him again. All it takes is a nudge with your knee and he spreads his legs, what a quick learner he is. You reward him with a quick pet to the bulge frantically waving for attention before bypassing it completely. Your ringed fingers scratch at his inner thigh that has almost begun to shiver. You give it a quick swat with the back of your hand before moving in to what you really want. 

The choked noise he lets out when you trace one finger over his outer lips is something you could get used to. And hearing more is just what you're awarded with when you spread his lips with two fingers, noting that he's practically dripping. Seeing his naturally suave features all screwed up and flushed with desperation is just fucking incredible. If you weren't so impatient to get going you'd have paused to take a picture. Well, probably not, but it was good enough to have the thought. 

You let two fingers slip into him right off the bat, the whine and nod of his head already encouraging you to go on. Not as if you were keen on waiting anyhow, a little pain wouldn't bug him. After a few moments wriggling them around and spreading them apart to assure he was loose enough, you add in a third for good measure. You push in as far as his nook will allow, panting and moaning Cronus taking it all beautifully. Once you've milked a few more noises from him, you retract your fingers, bringing them up to taste the material coating them. It tastes similar to your own, with only a few defining qualities. Then again you don't suppose material was meant to be all that uniquely flavorful in the first place. 

"Look at your greedy nook, clenchin' on my fingers and wishin' it had more. Lucky I'm so gracious to someone a your nature, so charitable as to give in to a hardly worthy cause," you hiss, nudging his legs open just a bit further for you to settle between. Both your bulges are squirming around for something now, your own brushing over Cronus's entrance and deciding it liked it there. It's already beginning to push in on it's own accord and he's writhing gorgeously under you. "Gonna fuck you so hard, not gonna want ta walk for nights." You have no clue if you'll be able to last long enough to fulfill that completely, but the words really seem to get to him, fins fluttering and a short keen passing his lips. 

Nothing could help you wait any longer, hips bucking into his nook rather harshly, earning a startled noise from him and getting a string of noises from yourself. He's just tight enough around you, contracting to pull more of you in him. Your neck drops down for you to get your mouth onto his shoulder, beginning to shove yourself into him as far as you can go. You bite down just enough to occupy your mouth to avoid making some embarrassingly loud noises. He seems shameless enough about what comes out of him though, begging you to move between groans and trills. 

You happily oblige, finding a rather uncoordinated pace given your complete inexperience. Your hips are jerky and you try your best to continue moving as harshly as your body will allow, mouth doing its damnedest at leaving as many marks on his poor neck as possible. He hisses as you nip too close to his gills and it only motivates you to scrape your teeth over them. This prompts him to finally put his hands on you, wrapping under your arms to claw the shit out of your back. Violet drips down your side where he's dragging his nails across your ribs, either finally feeling the black or just wanting to please you. Neither option would surprise you. 

Everything is a little hotter than you thought possible, from the literal heat rising in your belly to to blood and noises being warbled between the two of you. He's tightening more often now, bulge wagging between your stomachs as you fuck into him at the rhythm that's becoming a little less sporadic. Of course you start getting good when you're both presumably close, beginning to writhe against a spot in his nook that has his horns practically digging into the bed and his nails digging savagely deep into your back. You growl down at him, trying with your whole being to pound into him harder. 

His nails don't let up and neither do your teeth on his neck when you feel a sudden rush of sensation. You choke on a cry, not minding the volume of your voice being right next his ear. You go over the edge so suddenly, spurting your material into his nook. The feeling seems to be both uncomfortable and satisfying to him, as he's rocking his hips almost furiously against yours with pleas directed at no one in general. Another moment and he tightens hard around your overly sensitive bulge, crying out your name and cursing as he hits his breaking point. 

You didn't quite think about the mess he's made, bulge completely splattering your stomachs and some of your chest. Nice. After god knows how long of catching your breath, your bulge retracts from him and shit there was the material in his nook as well. It leaked from his swollen lips obscenely and you couldn't help but shiver at the sight. It was all kinds of surreal to see just barely different shades of violet mixing below you onto.. his... bed. Whoops. At least he didn't actually sleep in the thing. 

"You knowv I SLEEP in here, right Eri?" You startle at his voice, a worn out grumble as he unhooks his claws from your skin and kicks his leg to move you off of him. Ow, alright, the pain of the dripping lines down your back and sides were beginning to override the post-pail high. There wasn't much room to complain considering the many perfect bite marks on his neck bleeding just as much, and oh you _wince_ at a scratch over one of his gills. Right. He does actually sleep in there. Great. 

You mumble out an apology, grimacing at the purple that'll likely stain every inch of the sheets it's gotten on. Some was blood, thought the majority was material already beginning to soak on. Just another reminder you left him that you two actually just did that. You did just do that, didn't you? Damn. 

Groaning with thumping pain and fatigue, you pity the fact that he's got to clean that up. Or at least put in the effort to try and get the stains out, hah, good luck with that. But you've already got a date with his 'coon, shooting him a lazy grin as you cross the room to his recuperacoon. He looks spent, hair hanging in his face instead of the normal up-do he puts so much effort into, and there it goes again, that thing in your pusher that compels you to do something nice for him. That was getting annoying, but nothing bad could come out of showing him just a little pity. 

"One mornin' sleepin' in the coon ain't gonna hurt. C'mon, Cro." You can't believe you're trying to do this whole nice thing, actually walking back to bed to reach for his hand. This was like the ridiculously cheesy ending to a quadrant-flip flick. But you stop dwelling on the nitty gritty details when he begrudgingly takes your hand and you pull him out of bed. 

A few awkward maneuvers later and you're both snug tight in his 'coon, breath coming slowly as the sopor eases your wounds and sore muscles. He mumbles something you assume to be an arrogant remark but you don't care enough to listen, just resting your forehead to his chest and clocking out for the morning and likely some of the next evening. He's running fingers through your hair and you don't really think before taking one of his hands in your own to hold to your chest. If he asks when you wake, you can say you were already asleep or something. For now, you take comfort in whatever contact you can get from him, deciding that maybe red would be an acceptable quadrant to delve into.

**Author's Note:**

> this is definitely my favorite ship to write bc i feel like eridan would be consistently conflicted between hating cronus for being so shitty and similar to him in the emotional stability department but he can be a tolerable guy when hes in a quadrant so "♥♠♥♠???" is all eridan is seeing for a while  
> just hey i hope you all like this!


End file.
